Green Envy
by LaLaFilly
Summary: Loki adjusting to living with the Avengers. Post-Avengers/Slight AU. From Loki's P.O.V.
1. Green Envy

The printed words blurred on the page before him, his green eyes unable to decipher the Midguardian text. He laid a hand over his eyes, closing them briefly as he summoned patience. He had been trying to read the page for at least five minutes now, and his distracted mind just wouldn't comprehend the words that marched across the sheets of bound paper. He was tired - by Odin's ravens, he was tired.

He was perched at the very end of the sprawled sofa, his left knee hooked up as he leaned against the arm of the chair, the book open as his pale fingers caressed its smooth pages. It was a collection of children's tales. They had thought it would be best to start him off with something easy to comprehend, something familiar to him. So he was reading the Midguardian interpretation of the Norse gods. It was sprinkled with inaccuracies, as he had come to expect, but it was surprisingly close to the mark.

The sofa shook with Thor's bellowing guffaw, and he turned numbly to survey him. The god lounged across the cream furniture, eyes plastered to the television screen, where crudely drawn people pranced across the screen. Loki felt an unexpected pang of envy. It was not jealousy; there was no anger behind it. Just green envy.

His brother had adapted so quickly to their new way of life, effortlessly, carelessly. The simplest things in this realm amused him, and his easy nature had allowed him to gain the trust of their new comrades. Loki had not been so successful. He had tried, though. He had taken a page from Thor's proverbial book. He had made himself useful, friendly, compassionate, concerned, _indispensable_.

Guilt and fear sent a sharp pang through his body at the thought. Although the Avengers had begrudgingly accepted his presence, although they had included him, he couldn't shake the fear that once they no longer needed his help, once he was no longer useful, they would dispose of him. And the only way he could forego that was to make himself indispensable, make them unable to live without him.

But his constant attempts at assisting them had made him seem all the more suspicious in their eyes. They didn't trust him. He laughed, he smiled, he was gracious, he was gentle, and yet they still saw him in his armor, as the man holding his scepter against their hearts. They were unable to see past it, past his villainous skin, and they despised him for it.

Loki shifted slightly, drawing his limbs closer to his body as he lowered his gaze back to his book. The words still swam before him, and soon a headache was throbbing at the back of his skull. He cast his slanted eyes past his enthralled brother, letting them fall on the dark-haired figure who leaned against the bar counter, his nimble fingers tapping away at the screen before him as his sipped from the alcoholic beverage in his hand.

Tony Stark. The owner of this expansive mansion, and the only Midguardian who had shown him the courtesy of friendship, however sarcastic it may have been. He was the only man to have viewed Loki as an equal, to have brought him down to their level. Where the others had met him with double intentions and rejection, Stark had been the first to offer him friendship. And he had rejected it, tossed him away like a petty animal. Now the man responded to him with indifference. Loki was ignored completely whenever he wasn't needed.

Lounging on the armchair near him was the soldier, Rogers. Admittedly, he was the only one who _had_accepted him - at least partially - into the group. But it was in his nature to accept him for the benefit of the team. Deep down, Loki knew that Rogers didn't forgive him for the deaths he had caused, for the Midguardians he had injured. No matter how much Loki played the ever-loyal comrade, he could never atone for his sins in the soldier's eyes.

Loki's view was disrupted by the bespectacled man who moved to Stark's side, and he felt himself lean away, despite the distance between them. Although he held a human form now, Loki did not trust him. _He_, of all people, should know never to trust one's appearance. The beast still frightened him, however dormant it may be. His body reacted so swiftly, so potently, to his presence that he had long since grown accustomed to being able to sense Banner's approach. His stomach roiled and the hairs on his neck stood on end, his body temperature dropping in preparation for an attack. Such was the Jotun way, and he could not deny his inner being's natural reaction. They were much alike, this green beast and this blue monster.

Even without Banner's presence, he was never truly at ease. The Midguardian spy's piercing eyes always followed him, always surveyed him, waiting for a false move. His namesake truly suited him; the Hawk watched his prey with an unflinching gaze, and Loki felt as if his talons were constricting around his throat. Barton had never truly excused Loki for enslaving him. Loki feared that he would always resent him for what he had done to Barton's mind, to his essence. All the comrades he had forced Barton's hand against, all the crimes he had committed in service to Loki...it was ever-present in his piercing gaze.

But he was more or less preoccupied now with his Russian partner Romanov. Startlingly, she was the only one who didn't seem to mind Loki's intruding. Perhaps it was the confidence that came with knowing that she had played with his mind and bent him to her will. He was wary of her, and her ability to use him so readily, so effortlessly. She had pried information from him in a single unsuspecting act, and he had given her everything she wanted to know. She, at least, was an equal to him. Whether that brought her down to the criticisms of a liar or the reverence of a king, he wasn't sure. But he knew now not to engage her, especially not in pursuits of the psyche.

Loki raised a hand to massage his temple, and saw from the corner of his eye their gazes rise swiftly to watch him. They were always suspicious, always alert for any trickery, though he had shown them none. He had restrained himself to simple spells and gimmicks, in an attempt to win their trust. He had done away with his armor, with his scepter, with his weapons - everything that had made him what they distrusted. He had stripped himself of everything that could possibly make him a threat in their eyes, but they were blind to his attempts.

He stifled a yawn, surprising himself. He had not realised just how exhausted he was. Their missions were few and far between now; this realm was quiet and had collected itself into something resembling a peaceful nation. His otherworldly war had banded the Midguardians together in a way even he could not have predicted. But there were still outbursts, still conflicts. And when there were, the Avengers were called to rectify the situation.

He did not pretend himself an Avenger. But he did fight with them. He put all of his efforts into assisting them, into fighting with them, and it was costing him dearly. With the restrictions already placed upon his magic by the gods of Asgard, fighting had become a hard-won battle instead of the fleeting rush of mischievous glee he had come to know. Fighting was no longer about fooling your enemy; it was now a struggle to stay alive, to stay conscious. He had thrown himself into helping them, into protecting them, in the hopes that they would warm to him. The shielding spells required immense reserves of magic, and he was limited as it was. Protecting the Avengers whilst still protecting himself was taxing, and it was starting to show. His movements weren't as lithe; he knocked things over, objects slipped from his grasp, he ran into things. His body was punishing him for his excessive use of magic.

The sleepless nights were not so much a burden at the time: he read in his room when he could not sleep. But the feeling of exhaustion that plagued his every waking moment doubled with each rising sun. With such little magic left after battles, he was finding it harder and harder to conceal his Jotun skin. Already his skin was rising up in ridges and markings, and it had taken on a bluish hue. His eyes were not as drastically affected, but even the Avengers had mistaken them as bloodshot.

He allowed a tremor to rock his body, before climbing smoothly to his feet. The tension in the room doubled, and even Thor paused to watch him leave the room. He hesitated in the hallway, secluded in the shadows of the isolated corridor. He could hear the sounds of conversation picking back up, speaking casually now that he had departed. They did not even trust him enough to speak around him. How he hated the silence.


	2. Instrusions

He clenched his jaw, his fingers white on the book in his hand as he started forwards again. Black stars popped in his vision, unexpected and unwelcome. He faltered to a stop, hoping that they would disappear. They didn't, and when he next stepped forth, his knees buckled beneath him. He keeled forwards, reaching for something to brace himself on. His long fingers caught in the white vase, and it shattered as it hit the floor, embedding shards in his arm. He pushed himself unsteadily to his knees, staring dumbfounded at the blood that trickled down his forearm in tiny streams. He heard Thor rise hesitantly from the couch.

"Brother?" his voice called uncertainly from the lounge room.

"I'm fine," he called over his shoulder. "Everything's fine."

He pushed himself to his feet, letting the wall guide him as he made his way to his room. It was sparsely furnished, and void of decoration. He lowered himself down beside his bed, leaning leisurely against its covers as he picked the shards from his arms. The cold darkness pierced his skin, and he shivered against it, his bones tingling. He shrugged on a jacket, covering his wounded arms.

Loki glanced up, startled at the sudden light, and met Odin's hard gaze. So weak had his magic become that he could not even feel when he was moved between realms. He pushed himself slowly to his feet, standing tall beneath Odin's detached scrutiny.

He had not seen the Allfather since he had been allowed to journey to Midguard with Thor. It had taken his brother days of pleading to convince Odin to allow him into the custody of the Avengers. His surrogate father's regret of his actions was still evident in his stance.

"It's been a month," Odin said, by way of an explanation.

Loki understood now. He had been summoned for assessment. They wanted to know what he had been doing in Midguard, whether he had been serving his purpose, and whether he had been using magic. "I've done everything you commanded, Allfather," Loki replied brusquely, his tone almost taking on a warning edge. He restrained himself, and the Allfather held back his judgment.

Frigga was at his side, and she stepped forwards now, her gentle hand stroking Loki's face. He held no resentment for this woman; she had denied him nothing in life. His anger was with Odin. She traced the faint ridges along his neck and cheek. "You're exhausted," she commented, the concern evident in her tone. Her gaze flickered up to him. "How much magic have you been using?"

"All that you allow me," he replied quietly, his tone even and measured. Worry showed in the depths of her gaze as her palms fell to his chest, then to his arms.

"Your magic - does it suffice for your tasks?" Odin asked.

Loki's hostile gaze rose to him. "It _suffices_, yes. Though barely."

"You're bleeding."

His gaze fell at his mother's words. She had pulled back his sleeves, exposing his tattered arms. He had removed the shards of the vase, but the wounds were still visible. He swiftly jerked the sleeves back down. "I ran into-"

"You're unwell," she cut across him, surveying his face as he avoided her probing eyes. "You're not taking care of yourself."

"I'm fine," he assured her, his tone honeyed and soothing. Odin did not buy his false reassurance, but Loki didn't care what Odin chose to believe or not. His green gaze rose swiftly to the Allfather. "Can I go back to Midguard now?" His tone was clipped and brisk.

Darkness enveloped him, like someone had flicked off the light, and it took a few moments for his eyes to adjust to the dimness of his bedroom. He exhaled, releasing the hostility that had built within him every minute he had had to spend in Odin's presence.

The door to his bedroom opened, and he braced himself for an attack, his body already tensed in response. Thor stood framed in the doorway, his hulking figure silhouetted against the light. "Brother?"

"I'm here," Loki said softly, obscured by the darkness.

Thor stepped over the threshold, flicking on the light switch. Loki closed his eyelids against the harsh glow, listening as the springs of his bed groaned under Thor's weight. He pried his eyes open, letting them adjust to the artificial light, and turned to survey his brother.


End file.
